


mouth to mouth (there's no dignity in snores)

by Aziz



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cock Warming, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, I Wrote This Because Of Quarantine, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Somnophilia, The Witcher Kink Meme, coronavirus-induced holidays are taking a toll on my self-control, no beta we die like witchers, this was supposed to be pure filth but then feelings happened, when nobody writes your kinks you have to stop being a coward and write them yourself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziz/pseuds/Aziz
Summary: “Up to five drops for a good night’s sleep, depending on the weight and overall physical constitution of the user,” Jaskier finishes with a smirk. “I know, I was there. Now, I am no lightweight, but next to, for example, you, I am rather, uh, small. So I am thinking, two or three drops? Don’t want to knock myself out cold right away, there’s no fun in that, but Iwouldlike to fall asleep sometime during the evening - “Geralt fucks Jaskier while he's unconscious.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 38
Kudos: 1422
Collections: Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	mouth to mouth (there's no dignity in snores)

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, once again, stolen from kingkoblih (@myvalzpival)'s lyrics, but this time I misheard and fucked up but whatevs it fits

“Are you sure?”

“Am I - Geralt, is the sky blue? Is the night dark?” Jaskier huffs. “Yes, I am sure. Totally sure. Never been surer. Now, _gimme_.” He holds out his hand expectantly.

Begrudgingly, Geralt passes him a small vial of dark purple, almost black liquid. “The witch said - “

“ _Up to five drops for a good night’s sleep, depending on the weight and overall physical constitution of the user_ ,” Jaskier finishes with a smirk. “I know, I was there. Now, I am no lightweight, but next to, for example, you, I am rather, uh, small. So I am thinking, two or three drops? Don’t want to knock myself out cold right away, there’s no fun in that, but I _would_ like to fall asleep sometime during the evening - “

“Take two,” Geralt says. “You can always take more, if you find that it is taking effect too slowly.”

“Geralt, you are a genius,” Jaskier beams at him. He uncorks the vial and finds that the bottleneck was designed in a way that only lets out a single drop at a time. _Clever_. He lets his head fall back, opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out. Lets two drops fall onto his tongue. He swallows and closes the vial again.

“It’s… sweet,” he comments. It’s _really sweet_ , the taste thick and syrupy, staying in his mouth even after swallowing. “That’s a pleasant surprise. I expected it to be bitter and terrible, líke most potions are, but this tastes actually rather good, even if a bit intense. And - Geralt, why am I still talking?”

Geralt smirks and leans in to kiss his bard.

“Much better,” Jaskier mutters against lips pressed to his own, around the tongue pushing into his mouth. He presses back, kissing back with insistence while he still can.

Geralt unbuttons his doublet, without looking, kissing Jaskier deeply. His hands slide under the fabric - Jaskier can feel his warm palms burn his skin even through his undershirt - and gently push the garment off Jaskier’s shoulders. The shirt goes next. Geralt pulls it out from where it is tucked into Jaskier’s pants and pushes his hands under it, touching bare skin. He runs his fingers through the dark hair on his stomach and on his chest and savours the way Jaskier leans into his touch.

Geralt pulls the shirt over his head. They have to stop kissing for that, and when Jaskier’s face emerges from delicate white fabric, he’s smiling a lopsided smile. “I think the potion is starting to work,” he whispers conspiratorially. There must be some sort of hesitance evident in Geralt’s face, because Jaskier presses closer. “Please,” he says, “please, keep going. I’m fine.” He’s starting to feel the tug of tiredness, it is starting to make itself known. There is still more than enough time for more foreplay, though. “I’m great. I want it. Keep going. Please.”

Who is Geralt to say no?

He kisses Jaskier again, pushes him to lay down on his back on the bed, and repositions himself to be looming over the bard. He knows how much Jaskier likes this, being under him, just wallowing in the fact that he’s so _tiny_ compared to the bulk of the witcher above him.

Jaskier’s legs fall open in a silent invitation, but he’s still way too conscious for Geralt to go that way. Instead, he kisses and nibbles along his jaw, licks and tongues at his pretty pale throat. Here, the smell of Jaskier’s lust is slowly being muted by the relaxed, warm, almost-sweet smell of sleep. _Fuck, yes._

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. “My eyes feel heavy,” he informs.

“Falling asleep on me already?” Geralt teases, running his hands up and down Jaskier’s sides. “Am I _boring_ you, Jaskier?”

“Not in the slightest,” Jaskier shakes his head. The movement is a bit slow. “Keep going, dear.” He says it different this time. Before, he was desperate to make sure that Geralt did not change his mind. Now, he is urging Geralt to continue, so that he can revel in the moments he has left.

Geralt unlaces his breeches and pulls them off. Jaskier tries to help, but the movements of his hands are sluggish and uncoordinated, like his limbs are starting to feel heavy too. Geralt bats his hands away and does all of the work himself.

And after that, Jaskier lies wonderfully naked on the bed beneath him, body heavy and lax. His eyelids flutter, like he is having a hard time keeping them open.

“Fuck, you look good like this. At my mercy,” Geralt whispers, and Jaskier makes a small sound at the back of his throat.

Geralt lets his hands roam over the expanse of pale skin and dark hair. He strokes down Jaskier’s surprisingly strong arms, all over his lean and hairy chest. “I could do anything I’d like to you. I could touch you anywhere I’d wish. And you would be unable to stop me.”

His fingers follow the trail of hair leading to Jaskier’s hard leaking cock - Jaskier shivers - before changing course for Geralt to grope the bard’s pretty thighs. It seems to take all of Jaskier’s remaining willpower to spread his legs even more, to give Geralt easy access.

“And in the morning, you’ll be none the wiser."

A yawn forces Jaskier's mouth open. "None the wiser," he repeats then.

"You'll be my pretty little doll," Geralt croons as he wraps a hand around Jaskier's cock. Jaskier moans and almost, _almost_ bucks up his hips, but he does not have the strength to do it. "Just mine to do as I please with. To use your limp, unconscious body however I see fit."

Jaskier does not open his eyes, even though he seems he is trying to, very hard. "Yes," he mumbles. " _Yesssss_."

Geralt reaches for one of Jaskier's oils at the nightstand. It's smell is light and fresh, doesn't overwhelm Geralt's sensitive senses. He slicks up his fingers, watching Jaskier's calmly rising and falling chest. Judging by his heartbeat, he is not in dreamland yet, but he's inching closer and closer with every breath he takes. Geralt dips his hand down between Jaskier's thighs, under his balls -

Jaskier gasps when Geralt's fingers brush against his hole. He mumbles something that sounds _a bit_ like Geralt's name.

Geralt presses against him, _into him_ , and he's met with unusually little resistance. Jaskier _keens_ , and it turns into a yawn halfway.

"So good for me," Geralt says. "So trusting." He slides in to the knuckle. Jaskier is _hot_ and _tight_ , but also very, _very_ relaxed. He takes Geralt’s thick finger in without much effort, without much struggle.

By the time Geralt slides in a second finger, Jaskier's breathing has evened out. And he starts to snore quietly.

“Sweet dreams,” Geralt murmurs. He brushes his lips against Jaskier’s slack, slightly open mouth, just to feel his warm breath on his face. It smells syrupy sweet from the potion. Jaskier’s face is blank with relaxation. Usually, Jaskier is very pretty - all radiant smiles, loud laughs, smug grins, teasing winks, suggestive wiggles of eyebrows, plethora of lively expressions, every emotion he feels shows up clearly on his face. Geralt likes it, it’s a very fundamental part of Jaskier, and he, secretly, almost admires him for being so _open_. But like this? Calm and peaceful, _asleep_? That is another, entirely different kind of _beautiful_. Another, entirely different kind of _open_.

And to have it like this? For Jaskier to make the conscious decision to give himself to Geralt at his most vulnerable? To trust him with his own body even when he’s unable to _supervise_ , much less speak up or even step in? For Jaskier to lie here, in deep slumber, and take whatever Geralt gives him, give whatever Geralt wants to take?

Fuck, that gets Geralt _high_ like nothing before. The absolute _power_ he has over the bard at this very moment - 

\- he slips in a third finger, and Jaskier’s body yields to it, welcomes it, shapes itself around it without a second thought - 

But Geralt would never abuse that power, and Jaskier knows that, and that is why he trusts Geralt with it. Why he puts himself into Geralt’s hands as he drifts asleep. Why he revels in the helplessness. 

It was Jaskier who came up with this. It always is him, coming up with different interesting ways to share pleasure, various curious ways to have sex. It’s either something he has tried before and wants to indulge in again, _with Geralt_ , or something he has only heard about, whispered at courts or shouted in taverns, and it has piqued his interest. Geralt might find the sound of some of the practices Jaskier presents to him familiar, but only in theory - it’s not that he isn’t interested in these things, no, but for a witcher, it is hard enough to find someone who even _agrees_ to bed him. Asking for some more adventurous things would be a sure way to send them running for the hills. So Geralt _is_ curious, Geralt _wants_ some things that are a little out of the ordinary - but he has not been asking for them for so long that he’s hesitant even with Jaskier.

Which is _stupid_ , because Jaskier is hungry for every little piece of Geralt he can get his hands on, and he’s hungry for _all_ Geralt’s desires, would be open to at least _try_ next to everything just to make his witcher happy - and Geralt, rationally, knows this - that Jaskier would descend into the pit of depravity and come out with a smug, satisfied smile, if Geralt as much as _asked_ \- 

But there is still a part of him, buried very deep, that does not permit him to do so. A very small, but very powerful part that keeps all of Geralt on a leash.

 _One wrong word_ , it says, _and he’s gone forever. He’ll leave you if you ask for too much, so don’t ask for anything, just to be sure. You’ll drive him away if you ask for this, he’ll hate you if you ask for that._

Jaskier - bless his soul - beautiful, clever, talented, radiant Jaskier, is aware of this part of Geralt. He watches Geralt closely and tries his hardest to figure out what he might like, and then presents it to him like it is his own idea, so Geralt does not have to feel selfish for agreeing. And Jaskier is so _good_ at reading Geralt, it baffles him sometimes.

This, for example? Geralt has no idea if Jaskier dug it out of him, if he figured it out from a stray look or a lingering touch, or if it is something that he came up with entirely on his own - because he said he had tried it, with a few people, let them drug him or drugged himself or just told them to use him in his sleep - and it was simply pure chance that he managed to come across something that Geralt had been thinking about for quite some time.

Geral mouths at his skin, nuzzles his nose into the fuzzy hair on Jaskier’s chest, pumping his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. Jaskier’s breath catches, stumbles a bit in the middle of a snore when Geralt kisses a particularly sensitive spot, when he crooks his fingers inside of him _just right_ , but he’s still out cold.

Jaskier had asked him about this almost a week ago. They were sleeping outside, lying by the fire, Jaskier’s back pressed flush against Geralt’s front, eyelids slowly drifting closed, when Jaskier started talking about it. When he asked Geralt to take him when he wakes, regardless of whether - or, rather, _especially if_ \- Jaskier is still asleep at that time. It had woken him up, of course, so immediately, he started thinking about ways to deepen his sleep, and, eventually, he even confessed that he’d very much like to pass out as Geralt is touching him - to fall asleep with the promise, with the _knowledge_ that Geralt is going to _do something_ , to fall asleep with nothing but Geralt on his mind.

That’s when they decided to seek out a witch.

They did not tell her what they wanted the sleep potion for, but she must have been able to glimpse Jaskier’s thoughts, judging by the way she eyed them. Like Jaskier was foolish to submit his fragile human body to a witcher like that.

But Geralt had decided not to pay any mind to what one sorceress thinks the moment he saw Jaskier beam and quickly pocket the vial, lust wafting off of him in thunderous waves; when he saw him take it out again and again during the evening, just to look at it, just to touch it - so many times that Geralt had to take it from him so it wouldn’t interrupt him in the middle of dinner anymore.

He was so _excited_ to hand over control of his body. To hand over all control _to Geralt_.

Geralt releases his cock from the confines of his leather trousers. He’s hard and leaking without even touching himself - all just from enjoying Jaskier’s lovely pliant body under his mouth, his hands - _around_ his fingers. It truly gets him _high_ like nothing before.

He slicks himself up and slowly sinks into Jaskier’s warmth.

Jaskier is relaxed, his muscles do not fight against the intrusion, but he is in no way _loose_. He is just right around Geralt - fits him like a glove. Both tight and welcoming at once, like he always is for Geralt. He lets out a small, quiet moan, as Geralt slides in all the way, his eyebrows scrunching up minutely in pleasure, before his expression slackens again.

Geralt wonders if he is dreaming. If he is dreaming about this, about Geralt inside of him. If Geralt is fucking him both in real life and in dreamland. He would like that. He would like that very much, to have Jaskier’s body as well as his unconscious thoughts. He’s possessive like that, ever since the moment something inside of him had decided that Jaskier was _his_. So far, Jaskier has not even once showed any aversion to that idea, claiming Geralt as _his_ own in return.

They are each other’s, and that’s why Jaskier gives himself up so willingly. Why he feels safe enough with Geralt to force himself into sleep in his hands, why he takes pleasure from it.

Geralt starts to move. He grinds his hips against Jaskier in lazy, shallow thrusts. He knows he wouldn’t wake Jaskier up if he went harder, if he went faster - the potion is very potent. He just wants to savour this as long as he can. Every second he spends like this is a small blessing to him. Because of the way Jaskier’s body yields to him, the way he can push his knees apart and his limp legs spread without any resistance, allowing Geralt to bury himself deeper, thrust in at a different angle. Because of the way Jaskier’s snores turn into almost-gasps and half-moans thanks to the change.

Every thrust in punches the smallest of sounds out of him - nearly a sob, but brimming with pleasure - and yet his face remains blissfully blank.

And Geralt touches his fill - he caresses Jaskier’s beautiful, strong thighs, his pretty little belly, he traces the ridges of his ribcage, brushes his fingers over Jaskier’s nipples, runs his hand through his chest hair, tugs at it a little. He closes his hand around Jaskier’s delicate throat, not squeezing, just feeling his breath, his slow pulse. He touches Jaskier’s face, traces his lips with the pad of his thumb - presses in, and down on his tongue, and Jaskier does not react, not consciously - but his sounds get a little louder, now that his mouth is more open. He caresses Jaskier’s cheeks. He brushes his hair away from his face and tangles his fingers in it, pulling just a little to watch Jaskier’s head lull from side to side.

He cups Jaskier’s balls with one hand and fondles them. Jaskier moans louder at that, his cock gives a twitch, his muscles tighten for a split second before going lax again.

Geralt takes his cock in hand and starts stroking him, in the same languid rhythm he is grinding into him. He twists his wrist on the upward stroke the way Jaskier likes to do when he’s touching himself. When he thumbs at the slit at the tip and spreads the sticky precome over the head of his cock, Jaskier’s breath catches and his voice cracks on a moan.

He’s close, Geralt knows the signs intimately. He gets louder, his stomach stretches taut, the muscles in the upper part of the insides of his thighs flex - 

So Geralt watches his face and continues working him, until Jaskier’s eyes squeeze shut in pleasure and a strangled moan forces its way out of him and he climaxes on his stomach and into Geralt’s hand. And that sight alone - Jaskier’s mouth staying open even after making a sound, out of his control; his eyebrows pinched together in ecstasy; his belly painted with his own cum; all of Jaskier stretched out under Geralt, bare, helpless, satisfied, _undone_ \- takes Geralt over the brink as well.

He spills inside Jaskier’s tight heat with a grunt. He thrusts in a few more times - riding out his orgasm as well as fucking his come deeper into _his_ bard, to make sure the evidence of his actions stays in for Jaskier to see. Because Jaskier _wants to see_. _“I can wash in the morning,”_ he had said, _“but I want to wake up debauched. Sticky and dirty and used. I want to know you enjoyed me.”_

And there was one more request he had made after that, which Geralt happily fulfills, just like all the others. He maneuvers them so that they both lie down on the bed, on their sides, Geralt pressed against Jaskier’s back - with his cock _still inside_ his hole.

 _“I want you to stay,”_ he had whispered. _“I mean, after. Want you to use me to keep your cock warm the whole night. Oh, I can’t wait to wake up with you still inside, darling - “_

So Geralt stays. He likes it, too, to have Jaskier so close all night - as close as he can ever get. To have Jaskier even when when the sex is over, to have Jaskier when they are _both_ sleeping as well.

He joins Jaskier in sleep.

Geralt wakes up when he feels Jaskier stir beside him. Judging by the amount of light in the room, it is early morning.

“Good morning,” he murmurs into the nape of Jaskier’s neck.

“Morning,” Jaskier says back, his voice still a little groggy from the sleep potion. The potion sleep is like the potion tastes, sweet and thick like syrup - easy to slip into, slow to climb out of. But he’ll be well rested the whole day, as soon as he shakes it off. Geralt will gladly help him with that.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier breathes out and presses his ass against Geralt’s hips. “Ah, yes, fuck - kept you in the whole night, didn’t I? Kept you nice and warm. Couldn’t let you go,” he whispers, slow and low. Geralt hears a pleased smile in his voce. “Or rather you couldn’t let go? Didn’t want to lose the feeling of me around you?”

“Knew you’d hate to wake up empty,” Geralt grunts, as Jaskier starts to rock back against him. He feels his cock filling out and hardening inside him.

“Yes, that I would. But I have feeling you like it as well, do you not?” Jaskier turns his head to catch Geralt’s eye. “Filling me up all night. Waking up with your cock in me.”

“I do,” Geralt says and kisses him, lazy and messy. He grips Jaskier’s hips so that he can thrust in easily.

Jaskier moans against Geralt’s lips. “Tell me, did you have fun with me tonight?” he asks and breathes out sharply at a particularly well-executed thrust. “Did you use me like you wanted to? Was I good for you? A good little sleeping beauty?”

“Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Geralt kisses a trail down Jaskier’s neck, to his shoulder. “You were so good, so pretty - sleeping so soundly as I took you - you were so relaxed, you had no idea what I am doing to you - “

Jaskier swears, grabs Geralt’s hand and leads it to his hard cock. Geralt obliges, he takes him in hand and starts stroking him. Jaskier whimpers and his hips buck forward into his touch. “Did you - “

“I came in you,” Geralt agrees and bites Jaskier’s shoulder. “I fucked you, and I pumped you full of my cum, and I kept it in for the rest of the night with my cock. And your body was so _open_ for me the whole time, Jask, fuck - “

Jaskier comes with a shout of Geralt’s name, body tightening and clamping down around Geralt - and Geralt can’t take it much longer after that and follows, spilling inside Jaskier once more.

When Jaskier catches his breath, he turns around to face Geralt fully. His eyes are bright, no more drowsiness pulling down his eyelids. He’s smiling a broad, content smile, so full of _warmth_ and _gratitude_ and _adoration_ it makes Geralt’s heart ache. Oh, Jaskier must have come up with this one entirely on his own. When he weaves ideas out of the small clues Geralt unconsciously gives him, he usually has this weird flash of pride in his eyes - pride in himself, for guessing correctly, and pride in Geralt, for letting himself go, for opening up to Jaskier that tiny bit more.

“Did you really enjoy yourself?” he asks.

Geralt kisses him deeply. “Very.”

“That is good,” Jaskier mutters. “Because I had a splendid time. I mean, I am _guessing_ I had a splendid time, based on the dried seed on my stomach - sweet Melitele, it was _wonderful_ to fall asleep with your fingers in me and wake up with your _cock_ \- we have to do it again.”

“Soon,” Geralt promises, and Jaskier kisses him once more for that.


End file.
